


The End of Your Myth

by solitarysister



Category: Clash of the Titans (2010), The Big C (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitarysister/pseuds/solitarysister
Summary: title from a quote by Anne CarsonTo live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from a quote by Anne Carson
> 
> To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

It is the most exquisite thing. To feel life returning where it once was absent. To feel warmth at a center long since dead. Those limbs made stiff finally giving as his body bends and folds. Draco has never felt more grateful to be on his knees. And the ground is so forgiving, so soft beneath them. He presses his palms down and they sink into the plush layers. A cot, he recognizes, bedding. 

He falls asleep there, not yet understanding.

\\\

"I was given another offer. Not better, if that's any consolation... They just left with it... I don't know where they were headed... Yeah, sorry about that."

Lee hangs up just as the kettle begins to boil. He hurries to lift it from the burner, glancing over to see if the squeal has woken his guest. The soldier lays there at the center of his mattress, snoring softly.

Stirring in his honey, Lee hops up onto his kitchen isle. His phone blinks with insistent messages, unopened texts and notifications. He blows on his tea, cooling it as he ignores them all and scrolls through Twitter.

The solider does little more than shift onto his side, back to the room, in the time it takes Lee to finish the tea. And Lee doesn't think twice about slipping into the bathroom for a quick piss. As he's washing his hands he hears the front door creak open. Grabbing a towel from the wall, he peeks his head out.

Empty armour lays undone atop the tangled covers, tilted into the impression of a heavy body. The soldier is gone. The door stands wide open.

\\\

Lee feels the cold burrowing into his body. Every day that he's on this latest treatment he feels thinner. Not in weight but in substance. As if the medication were carving out pieces of him along with the cancer, leaving only his outer most skin.

He has no heading, no idea where he's going. The solider was gone by the time he reached the ground floor. Lee chooses his rights and lefts with unadvised instinct, hoping for a bit of luck.

After hours of directionless wandering, the sun hangs low in the sky, dusk smokey on the horizon. Lee stops for coffee and pays with trembling hands. He wishes he'd taken a moment longer to choose a heavier coat or grab a pair of gloves. Bringing the cup up level with his chin, he breathes in the humid steam curling off the surface.

His neck heats similarly, as he feels eyes on him.

\\\

There is nothing familiar here. The people he passes look at him as if he's the strange one. Stumbling, Draco realizes he is.

But he is capable and a quick learner. Stay off the blacktop road, walk to the right, pause at the curb. The language is familiar, as if he's been listening to it through a wall. He finds he understands most of the words he catches. Under his breath he tries several himself but his tongue struggles with the foreign sounds.

He thought leaving his armour would make him lighter on his feet, quieter and harder to catch. While this proves to be true, it also leaves him feeling unbearably vulnerable. He longs for the familiar weight of the molded metal, of the leathers worn soft with use.

He is at a loss as to how to find his way back, unable to remember enough of the initial sprint to retrace his steps. Confusion dissapates now slowly as the air grows crisper, thinner, colder. It gives way to panic Draco hasn't known since his first days in Argos. He was just a boy then.

The shops glow with an unnatural sort of light, harsher than sun or fire. Every time he walks in front of a door swung open he feels heat spilling from inside. He wants to enter, to warm himself but he's unsure if he is welcome or where he'll be safest.

He died hating the gods but the moment he sees _that man_ he finds himself thanking them. Draco recognizes him by his body rather than his face, having only gotten the quickest of glances through squinted, sleep feigning eyes. A shapless coat hangs over his slight form but Draco knows it's him.

Cutting off a pair of pedestrians, Draco presses his filthy hands to the cafe's glass in earnest. The man rips paper packets and pours the contents into a small, white cup. He raised it to his face and inhales deeply. Holding the position a moment too long, he turns.

Their eyes meet and it is undecided who is more relieved.

\\\

The soldier won't allow himself to be touched but he follows willingly, letting Lee guide him back to the apartment building.

The moment Lee has the door open, the man pushes past him roughly and makes for the armour. He has it strapped in place before the lock clicks. Lee doesn't take it personally. 

"Are you thirsty?" He points to his half finished coffee, not yet sure of how much between them is understood.

Seemingly hesitant, the soldier nods. Lee smiles, heading for the sink. Water seems like the safest bet and so he fills a glass and brings it to his guest. It's taken too quickly from him, spilling, splashing over his shoes and onto the floor. Rather than complain he busies himself with cleaning it.

\\\

Draco downs the first glass in eager gulps. Too soon it's gone, thirst still knotting his insides. Rather than ask for a refill, he decides to get it himself.

He steps around his host, approaching the sink how he might a wild beast. He mimics the motion he saw used on the faucet, lifting the curved lever. He uses too much force, the water on in a full stream. Setting his glass aside, he bends to drink directly from the tap.

The sensation of water running down his chin and cheek is bizarrely overwhelming. He can't remember the last time he experienced it. Cupping both hands beneath the stream, he splashes some over his face. Overwhelming, yes, but he can't get enough.

Dirt splatters up the sink's silver sides. It pools in the corners and circles the drain. Draco remembers the state of himself, caked in mud and bits of debris. His body itches with sweat and dried blood. His braids hang on the outer edges of his vision, knotted and greasy.

He bends further until the water runs over the back of his neck. He pushes his fingers down to the roots, though it proves difficult with his braids still woven tight.

A hand touches light to this shoulder and he jerks upward. The back of his skull connects with the faucet. He ignores the stinging pain as he straightens into a hostile pose.

\\\

Lee holds up his hands in cessation, feeling a fleeting surge of fear. Only when the soldier seems to relax does he point to the bathroom.

"You could take a shower, if you like."

Uncomprehending eyes stare blankly back at him.

"In here," Lee brushes past him and pushes open the door. "Come on."

Pushing back the shower curtain, he takes a seat on the edge of the tub and turns the knob. By the time the soldier appears in the doorway, Lee has found a pleasant temperature.

"I think that'll do it." He smiles, hoping at least his good intentions are communicated. "You turn it left for cold, right for hot. I only have bar soap but I can run out in the morning for shampoo and conditioner."

He stands, "I'm Lee, by the way," and holds out a hand but thinks better of it. He lets his arm fall limp, waiting uncertain.

"Lee."

Eyebrows arching up, Lee's face splits into a grin and, unable to contain his surprise, he laughs. This earns him a glare, though there is no anger in it, only self consciousness. Even on such a simple syllable, Lee can hear the thick accent.

"Do you, um, do you have a name?" Lee stutters like a fool.

"Draco."

\\\

There's little space for Draco to step, having taken up much of the cramped bathroom floor with his washed armor. Each piece drips now, clean and air drying. Puddles form, rivulets running between the tiles, making them slick under foot.

There are several towels. Draco takes the biggest and nearest to rub his body dry. He uses a smaller one, closer to the sink, for his hair. It almost hurts to have it all undone, his scalp inflexible and straining. The weak ties that once bound his braids disintegrate once removed. Lee said he would get something (Shampoo? Conditioner?) for him in the morning. Perhaps he could be convinced to pick up some replacements, too. If Draco can figure out how to ask.

"Could you," he whispers in a hoarse voice, "Could you get me . . . "

He knows the words are correct, though he doesn't know how. Closing his eyes, he strains to remember where he had learned. Filtered images of strangers passing him by play across the backs of his eyelids, their voices like murmurs. The images change from a grand bedroom to a vast garden, a polished space filled with marble and granite figures. Shaking the confusing images from his mind, Draco opens his eyes and looks at himself in the mirror.

"Where have we been?" He asks, quietly so as not to be heard. "Where are we?"

\\\

Lee tries to meditate and fails miserably. He is too focused on the sound of the water running, of the curtain being pulling back. Draco's presence is more than distracting.  


Giving up entirely, Lee rolls to kneeling and shuffles up to the foot of his mattress. There are still remants of Draco's coming to life. Chalky shards of stone litter the floor, trailing from the place Lee had stood the statue.

Lee strips the mattress of its filthy sheets. He doubts he'll be able to get the blood out. Still, he intends to try. From the closet, he retrieves a fresh set and starts to remake the bed.

Steam spills from the bathroom as Draco emerges in Lee's periphery. The water's still running. Draco must not have realized it's meant to be turned off. Not that Lee had shown him how.

When Lee looks up, he's only half surprised to find Draco standing naked in the doorway.

"I don't think anything I own will fit you." He stands, making to check the closet.

As he passes Draco, a hand catches him lightly at the bicep. Just as soon as its on him, it's gone.

"Yes?"

Draco holds out his hand, revealing curled, brittle twine sitting in his cupped palm.

"Could you get me more?"

Lee feels awful he doesn't understand. Especially because Draco is speaking so well and so clearly. His confusion is obvious, he imagines, as Draco instead holds up a lock of his hair.

"To tie."

"Oh! Of course, yes, I'll get you some. Of course."

Draco nods, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. He's proud of himself, Lee thinks.

"I don't have much food. But if you're hungry, I have eggs? Hard boiled. I could make you a salad." Lee opens the fridge and points to a plastic container of lettuce.

The look he receives is less than impressed.

"We could order take out." Lee moves to a nearby drawer, pulling out his stash of menus. "Pizza? Thai? Greek?"

\\\

Little white cartons stand open and half finished atop the isle. Lee picks at the orange chicken as he has each of the portions. He takes only a few small bites altogether, nothing substatial. Draco watches him from the chair by the door, working his way through what he's found to be his favorite; teriyaki.

"I bought it - well, you - awhile back. Feels like a lifetime ago now."

Lee tries to take a sip of his soda but finds he's finished it. Shaking the ice around, he sighs in defeat and heads for the wine.

"I was still in New Orleans. We were decorating the wine bar, trying to give it class without spending money we hadn't made yet. That meant a lot of flee markets and antique shops. You were in the back corner of the fifth? Sixth? They were using you as a coat rack for furs."

Shutting his eyes as Lee speaks, Draco is taken by a vague memory. He sees the inside of the shop, sunlight pouring in the front windows. Lee's silhouette stands, featureless, backlit. The images blur and fade but for a brief moment it is as if Draco can feel those furs being taken from him, piling at his feet.

"We never found a spot for you. We tried everything but you didn't fit with the interiors. So we put you into storage. That's where you were until last week."

Opening his eyes once more, Draco finds Lee standing before him offering a glass. He takes it, nodding thanks.

"See, the storage company went under. And the manager of the bar had to go down and sort through all our stuff. Some of it he had shipped there and, well. I guess he thought it would be funny to ship some to me? He gave them the address of my sublet and, well, here we are."

The wine tastes differently than he expected but is still familiar enough to soothe him. He drains the glass in a few big sips. Lee doesn't blink an eye filling it again for him, taking only a brief pause in his pacing.

"Is this making any sense to you? Do you any have questions?"

Draco has many, very few of which he believes Lee has the answer to. _He's your only ally_ , Draco reminds himself, _be wary but be civil_.

"How did I," Draco gestures to himself, hoping it'll translate.

"It was abrupt. Scared the hell out of me." Lee shakes his head, still disbelieving. "One minute I'm checking the replies to my ad on Craigslist, the next you were moving. The stone, it looked like paint or a brittle second skin. It fractured at the joints and you fell onto the mattress. You fell asleep. Curled up in a little ball."

His tone makes it sound like he's laughing. Draco tries to think what to say next but Lee blurts out a question before he can speak.

"How did it happen, you getting turned to stone?"

\\\

Lee watches Draco watching him sleep, squinting through his lashes and hoping it's not obvious. He chose to lay himself across the width of the mattress. His calves are cold and stiff against the harsh ground but his curiosity helps him to ignore it.

Midnight moonlight illuminates Draco's face as he begins to lose his grip on consciousness. His eyelids droop, staying closed longer and longer with each blink until finally they remain shut. His chin lowers to rest on his chest, his greying beard bright against the dark fabric of his too small t shirt.

 _Clothes shopping_ , Lee thinks. They'll have to go clothes shopping. And Draco will need a phone, probably a laptop. The building has free WiFi. Lee has a substantial enough amount of money coming in to support the two of them for as long as Draco might stay.

And it occurs to Lee for the first time that he hasn't questioned Draco's staying with him until just then.

And he doesn't have time to ponder it further because just as the thought surfaces, Lee himself is pulled under. His eyes close for real this time and he drifts off in a sleep full of dreams. Of gods, of monsters, of men.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Draco wakes as though electrocuted. His body jolts from the chair and he scrambles into fighting form. The stiches of the borrowed pants he wears rip in several places. He ignores them, focused on adjusting his eyes to the light of morning. He blinks until Lee comes into view. 

"I didn't mean to wake you," he takes a seat in the vacated chair. "I didn't think you'd sleep that long. I've been gone a few hours."

There are bags at his feet. Once his shoes are off he reaches for a plastic one, bringing it into his lap. He takes out two bottles and holds them out. Draco accepts them, squinting at the labels. As with spoken words, he recognizes the script and understands the meaning. These are the shampoo and conditioner Lee mentioned. They smell like Pomegranates and promise to create _soft, seductive, silky perfection_.

"I didn't know which would be best." Lee says as he sets three different packages of hair ties atop the bottles. "I've never had my hair long enough to need them. If none of these work you can always come out with me and pick some yourself."

Draco moves to the kitchen isle, setting his items down carefully. Looking at the hair ties, Lee has supplied him with several different sizes and textures. The best for his braids will be the small black plastic ones. For now, he ties a messy bun with a blue one made from elastic and fabric.

"One more thing."

\\\

Lee watches as Draco pulls the clothing from the shopping bag, examining each article and setting them in a line to his right. First are the t shirts, a five pack of all grey. He tears the plastic to feel the fabric then sets them aside, moving on to his new sweatshirt. It's oversized and soft. Draco rubs the fuzzy inner lining to his cheek.

The jeans are frowned at with hard disapproval. The black briefs earn a pointed glare.

"You don't have to wear them." Lee chuckles, fixing them both some tea. "I don't most days."

Draco nods with feeling and tosses the briefs back in the bag. The jeans are quick to join them.

"You'll have to wear at least the pants when we go out."

Getting to his feet, Draco begins to strip. An easy process now that he's foregone most of his heavier armor. It sits in a neat piles beside Lee's little tree.

"When are we going out?"

Lee shrugs. "Tomorrow? The day after? Whenever you're ready."

A stretch of silence draws Lee's attention from his search for leftover Earl Grey. Draco stands nude with a t shirt in hand. He's running his fingers over it, lost in thought.

Quietly, he murmurs, "I'm not ready."

It takes a lot for him to admit that, Lee thinks to himself. Sympathetic sentiments form on Lee's tongue but he swallows them. Too often sympathy sounds like pity, he knows that better than most. Draco is a proud man and the last thing he needs is the embarassment of being pitied.

So Lee lets him be. He finishes up with the tea. Draco wanders over, adding the sweatshirt on top of his t shirt. He remains bare from the waist down.

Accepting his mug, Draco smiles his thanks. With no trace of sympathy, Lee smiles back.

\\\

A week passes.

Draco learns how to use every modern appliance in Lee's apartment. He learns more of which foods he likes and which he doesn't. He learns he prefers sugar in his tea and milk in his coffee. Lee mediates every morning and night, running at least once a day. The country they're in is America. The state is Minnesota. It's nearly winter now.

And Lee is sick. He calls it cancer. There's nothing they can do for him but they're trying anyway. Twice he goes out and comes back with a bandage on his arm. He sleeps those afternoons away. Draco tries to order them dinner.

Draco doesn't know what to do with himself. He's not ready for the outside world. Cowardly as it might make him feel, there's too much that's different. Too much that reminds him of what he's lost. It's not the fear, not totally, that keeps him confined. It's the mourning he's in for the world he outlived.

They're falling into a pattern. Draco wakes and waits for Lee to do the same. Draco eats breakfast while Lee meditates. Then they'll sit and talk about whatever might come up. Lee will go out to run, to do errands or the like. Draco will excercise using only his body weight. Then he'll shower and wait for Lee to come home.

The cycle is repeating by their fifth day together.

By their tenth, it feels entirely natural.

On the twelfth night, Lee looks at Draco sitting in that chair and pulls back the blankets.

"It's bad for your back, sleeping upright." He pats the pillow beside him. "There's plenty of room for the both of us."

So they share the bed. Comfortably, too, neither feeling any awkwardness or embarassment. They go to sleep separately and wake tangled. Draco no longer watches from across the room as Lee rouses. Now he holds him until he stirs.

\\\

Lee presents Draco with the pair of boots and four pack of socks he'd withheld that first day he'd bought him clothes. He asks only that Draco try them on. There's an unspoken implication but it remains just that, unspoken. Lee told Daco they would go out when he was ready. He won't push him otherwise.

As if to meet him halfway, Draco dresses himself fully before sitting down to pull on the socks.

"How are they in the toe?"

Draco looks confused at the question. Drying his hands and tossing the towel over his shoulder, Lee crosses the room to bend down and pinch the boot's toe.

"Yeah, you've got enough room. Do you like them? The way they look, I mean."

He chose well, he thinks to himself. Brown cap toe dress boots of a lovely polished leather. They've got thick soles and warm inner lining. Perfect for winter.

"I like them." Draco says with the smallest smile.

"Come on," Lee straightens up and offers him a hand. "Walk around in them, see how they feel."

He walks the length of the room and back again. Then he follows Lee into the kitchen, continuing past him when he stops at the cutting board. All the while he watches his feet, getting used to yet another new thing.

"You'll have to break them in. Let me know if you get blisters. I'll buy you Bandaids."

Draco stays on his feet, wandering around aimless to the score of Lee chopping vegetables for their dinner. By the time everything is in the oven, he's taken to circling the space like a caged lion. Over a week he hasn't left this room, Lee isn't surprised he's restless.

And while Lee is determined not to push, giving Draco a little nudge doesn't seem like a negative or an overstep. He seems to like his gifts, always curious and pleased to accept them. It gives Lee an idea.

\\\

"I got you something else." Lee annouces the moment he's through the door.

Draco pulls himself to sitting, pushing his half of the pillows up behind him. Then, matching Lee's grin, he holds out his hands. Lee shuffles across the room, trying to take off his coat and hand Draco the bag at the same time.

In it is a black shoebox.

"More shoes?"

"Yes, but," Lee climbs over to his side of the bed and pulls back the lid, "these are sneakers. You can wear them while you work out. Or on a run with me."

Lee stays focused on the shoes, taking one out of the box and pulling the paper from inside it. He can feel Draco's gaze on him, questioning, seeking. He allows him time to think, praying he hasn't miscalculated.

"On a run with you."

"Yeah, if you'd like. When you're ready."

Draco picks up the other shoe and mimics Lee's movement. He removes the balled up paper and undoes the laces, widening the mouth of the sneaker.

"Where do you run?"

"Just around the neighborhood. I make it different everyday."

Turning his body, Draco slips his foot into the shoe and laces it. He fumbles making bunny ears but manages to double the knot just fine. Lee passes him the other sneaker, waiting.

"Do I have to wear pants?"

\\\

Draco looks at himself in the bathroom mirror.

This sweatshirt is different than his other one, thinner and designed for athletics (he assumes). It's light pink with white lettering on the sleeves and chest. Underneath, he has skin tight Under Armour. The pants are loose enough to be forgiven.

"You look great," Lee reassures him when he emerges. "Ready?"

Tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt, Draco feels a tightness in his chest. Despite it, he nods.

"If you want to come back at any time, let me know. Okay?"

"I'll be fine, Lee."

"I know just," he unlocks their front door, "let me know."

Draco doesn't allow himself to falter. At the top of the stairs, at the door in the lobby, on the sidewalk outside the building, he forces himself to feign ease. Lee jogs in place a moment, checks his watch, and they're off.

Though there's a cold breeze blowing, the sun sits high and hot overhead. Draco feels his body tempurature rising as it hasn't in ages. It's not too long before Lee's skin is pinkening from the exersion. Draco falls back a bit, letting him lead. He keeps his head down until curiousity overtakes him.

The stores look different in the daylight. Draco reads their names and peeks in the windows. People stand in line, people scratter through the asiles, people sit together at tables sharing food and drink. Each image matches to something from his past. Maybe not that much has changed. Maybe some things don't need so much translation.

Lee slows, holding an arm out to make sure he doesn't pass him by. He keeps it there as they wait for the light to turn green.

\\\

"Are you ready to head back?"

Lee asks at every stoplight. Draco says, "No," each time, firmly. They keep on running, Lee keeps choosing twists and turns he'd never take on his own. An hour passes and then another. His legs begin to weaken, his body protests every step. Breathless, he asks Draco to stop.

Hands braced on his knees, Lee laughs airlessly and stumbles into the alley between a pet spa and a pizza place. Draco follows him, puts his hands on him. One grasps at his shoulder, the other rubs light circles on his back until his breathing evens out.

"I'll get us something to drink." He says when he straightens up at last. "Wait here, okay?"

Draco agrees, waiting patiently as Lee runs into the pizza place with cash he'd hidden in his shoe.

"Could we maybe slow down now?" Lee asks as they step back out onto the sidewalk, each nursing their own bottle of water.

"Of course."

They walk home and Lee is surprised at how low the sun is in the sky. It casts long shadows, slanting their bodies into dark trees.


End file.
